The White Lily

by Susanne Matthews

  Wrapping the towel around his hips, he headed into the bedroom to get dressed. The image of the woman he’d been thinking about filled the television screen. She wore a red jacket, a cream and red polka-dot blouse, a red skirt, and strappy red shoes that added considerably to her height. Standing behind a forest of microphones, she addressed a roomful of reporters, a room he recognized as the lobby where he’d waited yesterday. He turned up the sound.

  “... as you are aware, the bodies of Lindsay and Bryan Winchester were discovered in their home last evening. As of this moment, their two children, Cassie, four months, and Ethan, sixteen months, are missing. We believe the crime took place at least two days ago, which means the children have been gone for more than forty-eight hours. The sympathies of the police commissioner and the entire department go out to the family dealing with this horrendous crime. We are appealing to the public and anyone in the Mission Hill area who may have information to contact us at One Schroeder Plaza.”

  “Agent Munroe,” one of the reporters interrupted. “Is this the work of the same person who killed a couple in Baltimore three weeks ago?”

  Lilith nodded. “There are similarities between the cases, but there are significant differences as well, leading us to believe we may be looking at the work of a team rather than one individual.”

  The reporters all started screaming at once.

  “If you’ll be patient with me,” she said loudly, “I do have a few more details to share.”

  Slowly the crowd quieted.

  “There have been no ransom demands in either case, which is why there’s speculation that this may be a child-trafficking ring. We’ve had an eyewitness come forward in the first case, and a sketch of the suspect will be released from Baltimore later today. According to our witness, he’s over six feet tall, with a medium build, bald, but with a heavy gray beard—salt and pepper is the way she described it—and wears horn-rimmed glasses. He’s driving a dark-colored, older model panel van and has an accomplice with him. The gender of the accomplice is unknown at this time. We believe the perpetrator of these heinous crimes gains access to the homes by posing as a floral delivery man, and his van may have a sign indicating as much in the side back window. Unfortunately, we haven’t found a link between the families, so we don’t know how he selects his victims at the moment. We believe he stalks families new to the area, watches them, and waits for the right type of child and situation. We admonish all parents of young children to exert caution around strangers.

  “We need the public’s help in apprehending this man. If you see a van matching that description near a park or playground, immediately contact the police. Do not, under any circumstance, approach the vehicle. This man is considered extremely dangerous. That’s all I can say for now. We’ll keep you apprised of any further developments in the case.”

  The reporters all started to shout questions, but Lilith turned without further comment. Three armed men stepped up, preventing anyone from following her.

  Jacob turned away from the television and dressed in jeans and the navy Boston Red Sox t-shirt the concierge had sent up. The matching cap sat on the table. He reached for his coffee and finished it. Sliding his watch on, he realized he was running late for his appointment with the medical examiner. He slipped his feet into his loafers, grabbed his wallet, cash, and cell phone, as they called them here, put the cap on, and left the room.

  • • •

  “Well done, Lilith,” Trevor said as soon as she stepped off the elevator. “You did an excellent job of keeping the Harvester’s name out of it. I thought one of the reporters might ask if we were making progress on the case, but no one even mentioned him.”

  “If the Prophet’s collecting those children, he won’t be happy. He wants the fear and chaos mention of his name, or rather the Harvester’s name, creates. While everyone on the East Coast is going to be on the lookout for that van, we’re going to have to deal with all kinds of Good Samaritans. No doubt we’ll have more than one whack job calling in, too. I don’t set much store in Psychics R Us. Don’t get me wrong, it isn’t that I don’t believe psychics exist, but for every legitimate one, there are at least a hundred frauds praying on the emotions of those suffering from this kind of loss.”

  “I agree. I’ve had to deal with them in the past as well,” Trevor added, “and we had a couple claim to know where the Harvester was keeping the children during our investigation. Nothing came of their information.”

  “Pierce probably put them up to it to screw with the case,” Tom said. “If the killer himself saw the broadcast, his nose is probably out of joint. Let’s hope he doesn’t decide to leak the truth that he’s the Harvester taking back what’s his. If he does, we’ll have a feeding frenzy out there. We’ve taken a lot of flak for releasing so few details about that case, and if the public believes we knew the bastard was back and didn’t warn them ...”

  “We did what we had to do,” Trevor said, “and I’d do it again. If word had gotten out he was using a Fotomat to select his victims, there’d have been wide scale panic among all the women who fit his type, and you’re talking thousands of women. Every week, I get at least one reporter calling to find out if we’re any closer to closing the case. We didn’t let it out that Jimmy Farley wasn’t our man, but someone leaked that to the press after the APB went out for Pierce. Hell, he might have done it himself.”

  “Speaking of Pierce,” she said, “has there been any word on him? He was the Prophet’s right-hand man.”

  “Nothing since he crossed into Canada, although the RCMP and all the police forces in the country are on the lookout for him.”

  “Do you think he came back?”

  “I don’t see how. Border Security has him flagged.”

  “But there are lots of places along the border where a person can cross without going through security. It’s the longest undefended border in the world.”

  “Don’t remind me,” Trevor said. “If he crossed ...”

  “And you can kiss my ass,” Rob yelled as he slammed the phone down, cutting Trevor off mid thought.

  Lilith watched the detective redden.

  “Sorry, Munroe. I’ve been getting the bureaucratic shuffle all morning, and that supercilious fool just pushed the last of my buttons, but she didn’t hear that. She’d already hung up.” He turned to Trevor “It’s going to take a subpoena to get the locations for the kids placed by CPS. Since I can’t find out where the hell they are, I doubt the Harvester can, but he’s fooled me before.”

  Rob stood up. “I’ll call the DA in a minute or so, but in the meantime, I’ll get a cup of coffee or something.”

  Lilith laughed. “Do you really think you need more caffeine?”

  Rob grinned and shrugged. “Probably not.”

  The elevator chimed and the door opened.

  “Got a package for Special Agent Lilith Munroe. It’s from the BAU at Quantico. We checked it. It’s clean,” said the officer, stepping into the bullpen.

  “It’s the file I requested on the Richardson case. It’s got everything in it the forensic team found. I’m hoping it’ll tell us more about our suspect, maybe help us find more links between that crime and the one here. The different MOs bother me, and the fact he left Cassie’s photographs. Before we go out on a limb and say it’s the same crew, I want to make sure we dot all the Is and cross the Ts. Tom, why don’t you look through the two sets of crime scene photos and see if you find anything I missed?”

  “Sure thing.”

  Handing him the folder, Lilith grabbed her purse off her desk and went down the hall to the ladies’ room. Now that the press conference and briefing were over, she needed time to herself. Closing and locking the door behind her, alone in the brightly lit room, she let the mask she wore in public slip off and allowed all the emotions she’d suppressed to surface.

  She should never have agreed to give the interview. For five years, she’d hidden in a cubicle at Quantico, avoided going out, even shopped for s
hoes online, alone, behind locked doors and closed blinds. How could she have been so stupid? By now, her face and voice were plastered all over the country.

  Panic had danced around the back of her mind when she’d looked out at the sea of reporters and cameras. So many! Delivering the information had been the easy part, and since they’d decided she’d leave the stage as soon as she said her piece, that had gone well, but she couldn’t escape the fear that the Prophet and his henchman hadn’t been the only ones watching. Would her tormentor recognize her? Before the raid, after the branding, he’d promised to come back for her, promised he’d make her sing again. The tune she hated beyond all others filled her head, and she blocked her ears trying to stop the sound—but the humming was inside her.

  She leaned against the counter and stared at herself in the mirror. She’d been at least twenty pounds heavier, had worn her hair short and curly, dyed a deeper shade of red.

  God, let him not have recognized me.

  The acid in her stomach roiled, and she barely made it to the toilet before her stomach emptied. Sitting awkwardly on the floor, her head supported by the porcelain bowl, she let the tears fall.

  Chapter Seven

  Jacob entered police headquarters slightly less confident than he’d been yesterday morning, hoping for a less dramatic visit. After announcing himself to the information clerk—thankfully not the same man as before—he waited in the chair he’d used the previous day. There were no lawyers today, just a half dozen parents and teenagers who’d probably gotten themselves in trouble, and from the looks on their faces, they didn’t want to be here any more than he did. He wasn’t looking forward to seeing Eloise’s remains, but he needed to do it, and although he hated to admit it, he had to see James as well.

  He closed his eyes, grateful the pounding in his head had subsided. After the highly inappropriate dreams starring Agent Munroe, his sleep had been plagued with confusing nightmares blended together in a kaleidoscope of images that made no sense. To have come so close to saving Eloise and fail ... He’d dreamed of them all—his mother, his father, his grandfather, and of course, Eloise—the way they’d been before the epidemic, when life had been good and carefree. He’d relived the beating that had left him more than half-dead and awakened covered in sweat and shivering, the scars on his back and chest aching and burning as they sometimes did.

  He hadn’t had that dream in years. Recalling the events for Agent Munroe must have been the catalyst, but it wasn’t something he wanted to dwell on now or ever again. He’d survived, risen above it, and become a man Jacob had been proud of until yesterday. At the moment, he was questioning every decision he’d made eighteen years ago. Maybe once he saw the bodies, he could consign the memories deep into his subconscious where they’d stayed all these years.

  The ding of the elevator’s arrival pulled him out of his head, and the tap-tap of heels approached. He looked up into Lilith Munroe’s eyes, the ones he’d fantasized had been filled with desire, and felt as if the air had been knocked out of him.

  She was dressed as she had been for her televised press conference. The short, red jacket brightened her complexion, and the knee-length skirt showed off a pair of shapely legs that ended with feet shod in a pair of impressively high heels, but she’d changed her hairstyle, pulling it into a long ponytail on the left side of her head. It made her look softer, more feminine, and perhaps a touch vulnerable.

  The magnetic pull he’d sensed the previous day was as strong as it had been, but he couldn’t quite understand why. There was no denying she was attractive, but he’d dated more alluring women. It wasn’t any one thing about her either. He found the whole package appealing. It was as if they shared some connection, one he hadn’t quite figured out yet. He stood, smiled, and extended his hand.

  “Good morning, Agent Munroe, I didn’t know I’d have the pleasure of your company today. I saw you on the news this morning. I gather your evening wasn’t the best.”

  “That’s an understatement. I’m sorry to keep you waiting. My evening was as far from pleasant as you can get, but I suppose considering what you learned yesterday, yours wasn’t much better.”

  She looked as tired as he felt, and he noticed the heavier makeup. She hadn’t given many details at the press conference, but she’d used the word “heinous.” He assumed the murders had been grisly ones.

  “I’ve certainly had easier days and nights,” he said, but somehow, despite everything, yesterday hadn’t been the worst one he could remember. Meeting her had been a high point.

  The warmth in her eyes vanished, replaced by cool professionalism, as if she were trying to distance herself from him. So much for wishful thinking. If they shared a connection, it was all one-sided.

  “Detective Halliday and the others are working on that kidnapping-murder case I spoke of in the interview. I volunteered to take you down to the morgue. This way.”

  She indicated the elevator, and he followed her, his gaze fixed on her swishing skirt as she walked.

  What the hell’s wrong with me? I’m on my way to see the bodies of my brother and sister, and all I can think of is her firm little backside. He forced his wayward thoughts away. This was going to be a difficult experience in more ways than one.

  Following her into the elevator, he inhaled her fresh, clean scent. She pressed the button, the doors closed, and the elevator descended to the lower levels where the labs and autopsy were located.

  “I know it’s asking a lot,” she said, “but once we’re done, would you mind answering a few more questions about your time with the cult and your uncle in particular?”

  She stiffened her shoulders as if to bolster her courage. While he’d like nothing better than to spend time with her, the lady wasn’t looking forward to it. Too bad. He’d have liked to get to know her. Maybe then he’d understand why she affected him the way she did.

  “I doubt there’s much I can tell you, but I’ll do my best. Maybe we could go someplace more pleasant than interrogation to talk.”

  Her cheeks reddened. “Yeah, that didn’t go so well, did it? I can understand why you wouldn’t want to go there again. My supervisor found an empty conference room we can use.”

  What the hell had he expected? A cozy chat in a public café? This was business. He had four days left in Boston. As much as he found Lilith Munroe interesting, they didn’t have a future. If geography wasn’t a big enough deterrent, his family ancestry was. For all he knew, she was married or engaged. Just because the only ring she wore was that exquisite Burmese pigeon-blood ruby on her index finger didn’t mean she wasn’t.

  “I know you only asked to see Eloise,” she said softly, “but Trevor wondered if you’d mind looking at a few others. We haven’t been able to identify all the men who were killed when we rescued the women and children. You can see your brother, too, if you want—for closure—as you mentioned yesterday.”

  “Thanks. I appreciate that,” he said, noting the undercurrent of concern in her voice. Perhaps asking him to do this was what bothered her, but he sensed it was something more. She was tense, like a spring wound too tightly. Something had her off kilter, and he suspected it wasn’t him.

  “I looked up everything I could find on the Harvester case on the Internet last night—there wasn’t much. My brother was a hell of a photographer. At least I remembered that correctly about him. As for the others, if they were in the compound when I was there, I’ll let you know, but people change in eighteen years. Most of the adults would’ve been children when I left. If I do see a familiar face, I’ll give you as much information about them as I can.”

  She nodded. “That’s all we can ask, thank you.”

  The doors slid opened, and a man dressed in OR scrubs whom Jacob assumed was the medical examiner waited in the hall for them, much the same way the agents had yesterday, but instead of a Glock, he held green fabric in his hands. The man scrutinized Jacob so closely that he felt like a bug on a microscope slide.

  “Good morni
ng, Lilith,” he said, without taking his eyes off him. “I saw you on television. Good job. Here.” He handed them the camphor-scented surgical masks. “These will help manage the aroma somewhat. As much as we try to keep the smell of death and decay down, some days are worse than others.” He held out his hand. “I’m Amos Flynn, senior medical examiner, and you must be Jacob Andrews. I can certainly see why everyone jumped to the wrong conclusion yesterday. You bear an amazing resemblance to your brother. I don’t think I’ve ever seen fraternal twins resemble one another quite this much.”

  “I haven’t seen James in eighteen years, so I’ll take your word for it, at least until I see him for myself.”

  “Of course. If you’ll come this way.” The man turned to Lilith. “The Winchesters account for the increased aroma today, along with parts of a body they found in the harbor. Looks like one of the tour ship props cut him up pretty badly, but I got one good hand, so I’ve sent the prints to the lab. As soon as we get a match, I’ll forward the case upstairs, but this guy’s dark skinned, so he probably won’t be associated with the Harvester.” He turned to Jacob. “Who would you like to see first?”

  Jacob was about to say Eloise but changed his mind. He’d put off that pain until later.

  “Agent Munroe said there are a few men you haven’t been able to identify. Perhaps I can look at them first?”

  The coroner nodded. “If you’ll stand by the window, I’ll have them brought out for you to see. It won’t take long.”

  He pushed open a door and closed it behind him, leaving them standing in front of a window where the blind was drawn. Jacob shifted from one foot to the other, not certain he was prepared for the ordeal to come.